Ever Again
by i-will-mourn-the-wicked
Summary: Elphaba has lost Fiyero, the one person left in her life keeping her from tumbling off the edge. With her lifeline gone, the green woman accepts her title as the Wicked Witch with a grin, slowing falling into that very pit of darkness her lover was keeping her away from, her life, her soul, and her sanity crumbling around her.
1. One More Disaster

Her throat ruined and raw from screaming his name, screaming the spell, screaming, screaming anything, her cheeks covered in seared tracks from the flood of helpless tears, Elphaba let out another loud, grief-filled sob, her shaking legs finally giving out, exhausted from the strain. She sat there, defeated, mumbling chant after chant of worthless gibberish she didn't understand. The Grimmerie sat open in her hands, her flingers flipping through page after page, running across the ever-changing text in one last desperate attempt to make any amount of sense of the spells.

"Fiyero," she whispered uselessly, her body shaking from the sudden and intense release of emotion after emotion. "Fiyero, where are you…?"

All the green witch could think about was her lover, battered and bruised by the very men who claimed to be his comrades, hanging there lifeless on those dreadful poles, how she'd failed so miserably to save him.

Sometimes she wondered, why her? Why was she doomed to a life of such misery and pain? Why was she forced to fight through this wretched existence of hers? Why was everyone she cared for cursed to be hurt, or even killed? After all, all she'd wanted had been to do good, right?

Defying the Wizard, it had been to save the Animals, to help them, to liberate them. Enchanting her sister's shoes, that had been to give Nessa happiness, fulfillment, the gift of independence that had before been just a fleeting dream. Turning Boq to tin, that had saved his life. Even something as far in the past as rescuing that shivering Lion cub from class, that memorable day at Shiz, hadn't she done more good than harm? Everything she'd tried had been for good, hadn't it?

She was beginning to believe that less and less.

Her arsenal of so-called good deeds hadn't accomplished a damn thing on even the _spectrum_ of good. Her defiance and utter naivety had resulted in a chain reaction of disasters she could never undo. Glinda despised her, along with the rest of Oz, Dillamond was who knew where, trapped, helpless, or, for all she knew, dead, along with her sister, and now, most likely, Fiyero. The bodies of Elphaba's loved ones were piling up around her, and she was struggling to stay afloat, drowning in a sea of blood, regret, and guilt.

After all this time, had she truly been seeking good, or had all of her deeds simply been a desperate cry for attention, a selfish attempt to be seen in a positive light—for once—that had, when all was said and done, ended up backfiring so severely it was almost amusing?

The thought of how her undying efforts to do good, as well as be seen as good, had resulted in the exact opposite, giving rise to the moniker "the Wicked Witch of the West", caused a loud cackle to fly past Elphaba's lips, as she threw the Grimmerie across the room, startling Chistery when the thick book fell with a loud whump beside him.

The _Wicked_ Witch of the West.

How _ironic_.

 _Well, so be it._

" _So be it then,"_ she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

She had fought tooth and nail, given up her life, her happiness, her soul for these people. She'd dragged herself through hell and back, doing all she could to help, and where had it gotten her?

Alone, lost, choking on her own tears, her only companions a crowd of speechless Monkeys.

So why bother? Why give up her own sanity for these ungrateful people who would never give her so much as a thank you? If all of Oz was so hell-bent on labeling her as the wicked witch, then why in the name (or lack of one) of the Unnamed God was she still trying to fight it?

"Let them all be agreed, then," the green witch spat, her fingers clenching into fists by her sides. It was over. She was _finished_. Finished sacrificing what she couldn't afford to sacrifice for the very people calling her wicked in the first place.

 _Enough, then._

Let it be known to every corner of the _wretched_ country of Oz, that she was _wicked_ , through and through.

If the people so demanded a wicked witch, then a wicked witch they would get.

Funny, how they'd thought she was wicked before, and it was that very sentiment that would be their downfall.

"Oh, my dear Oz," Elphaba cackled softly, those eyes that once glowed with such hope darkening into a stormy rage. "I'll show you _wicked_."


	2. Off the Handle

A loud cackle rang through the night air as Elphaba flew, perched on her broom, her long, ebony hair flying freely behind her, a hand resting on the brim of her signature black hat. The moonlight glaring down on her outlined her silhouette against the sky, striking panic in the hearts of the Ozians as they retreated into their homes, controlled by their manipulative fear.

Her narrowed eyes scanned the land below, scrutinizing, searching for any sign of what she'd lost. Searching for those familiar poles poking up over the tall fields of corn.

Out of the corner of her vision, she saw it. Two dreadful sticks of wood draped with the limp frame of the man she loved. With one twitch of her leg, she steered the broom to the side, leaning over the front, propelling herself forwards, swooping down low over the crops, averting her gaze from the bashed-up house just a few yards away, the very house that had been the undoing of Nessarose.

Thinking about it made Elphaba sick.

But a slight twinge in her gut was nothing compared to the screaming pain that ripped through her chest when her eyes fell on the strung up, unmoving form of Fiyero.

A thick layer of blood was dripping from all around his hairline down the dark skin of his face, as well as coating the rest of his hair, matting it down, giving it's usual rich brown color a sickening tinge of auburn. His uniform was crudely ripped in places all over his body, allowing light to illuminate the glistening of his still-fresh wounds. The ropes previously wound tightly around his wrists had given slightly, just enough to reveal thick lines of bloody red bruises.

Elphaba was deathly quiet, making no sound other than the little gasps catching in her throat before she could force them out her lips.

"Fiyero," she whimpered, her fingers shaking as she reached out to place her palm against his cheek. "Yero, my hero…."

Burning, fiery tears began to gather at the corners of her eyes, searing the already-raw skin of her cheeks as soon as the salty wetness fell. The excruciating physical pain only intensified the throbbing in her head and heart.

The green woman's legs began to wobble the harder she sobbed, her arms wrapping around Fiyero's bloodstained neck, her face buried into the crook of his shoulder, her body shaking, heaving, her wails slicing through the quiet air like the sharpened spear of a Gale Force guard.

Nothing could have prepared Elphaba for the unbearable agony that ravaged through her body, taking hold of her, forcing the sobs through her throat and constricting around her chest, until it hurt for her to gasp through a simple breath. Her stomach lurched, sending her whole body forwards, burying her even further into the hanging corpse of the man she loved so dearly. Every desperate, gasping attempt to fill her lungs with air was a struggle, hindered by a loud sob and another burning flood of tears.

"Oh Fiyero, you brainless idiot!" Elphaba cried, slamming a tightly-clenched fist against one of the wooden beams. "Why did you...why did you have to…."

 _No_ , she told herself as her wailing intensified. _I did this to him._

" _This...this is my fault_ ," the witch blubbered, steadying herself on her feet for just long enough to look at her lover's face.

"Yero—" she choked, her chest tightening, like one of those ropes holding up Fiyero had just wrapped itself around her heart. "Yero, oh Yero, I'm…I'm so sorry, I—"

Her breathy apologies were swallowed by a fresh round of sobs that wracked her body once more.

"I could've saved you," Elphaba hiccupped, her words muffled by the material of Fiyero's uniform she was pressing her face into. "Yero, my love, I could've...if I'd just tried harder, if I'd worked faster, if I was smart enough to read that ridiculous book…!"

The rivers of tears sliding down the green woman's face left burn after burn, scorching her skin, making her open her mouth to suck in a wobbling gasp, allowing the painful liquid to run past her dark green lips, scalding them.

Elphaba wanted to kick herself at how pathetic her ceaseless sobs sounded.

She'd _failed_.

She'd failed Glinda, she'd failed Nessa, she'd failed the Animals, Fiyero, everyone.

She'd failed all of Oz.

And all the could do was cling to the shell of the man she once loved, cry until she lost her voice, ran out of tears, almost ran out of breath. The pressure in her chest, the pain on her face, the guilt slicing at her heart, all of it threatened to push her over the edge—and she almost wished it would.

Anything would be easier than bearing this torture.

It was to the point where her arms were too weak to hold onto Fiyero any longer, and they slipped from around his neck, causing her already-wobbling legs to betray her, sending her crashing to the dirt with a painful _thump_.

The weakness in her limbs became prominent just in time for her increased vulnerability to be taken advantage of.

Footsteps with the intensity of thunder began to sound from what seemed like a few yards away, a calculated march Elphaba knew all too well.

The Gale Force.

The very men who had caused the scene laid out in front of her.

White-hot rage flashed before her vision, blinding her to any sort of common sense, any other option other than _revenge_. Her angular jaw set in place, her teeth grinding together with fury, a shaking green hand reached for the broom just a few inches away. Using her other hand to push herself back up on her feet, the heels of her boots dug into the soft ground as she stood in a protective stance, shielding the body of Fiyero, determined not to allow any more harm come to him by these sick men's hands.

"By the order of our great Wizard, you are under—"

"Oh, _spare_ me, _please_ ," Elphaba spat, a slight rasp to her voice.

She took a small step forward, all traces of fear or shock evaporating into the cool, damp air. The Gale Force lifted their spears in perfect unison, but she only laughed, a bitter cackle, and continued her advance.

"You and your _great Wizard_ have stolen everything from me," she began, spitting out the words "great Wizard" like they were shots of poison. "My only friend, my sister, the man I love, my pride, my very _life_ ," she continued, another cackle slipping out her lips.

"So now, my dears, I'll take _your_ lives like your _Wizard_ took _mine_."

The screams of the soldiers echoed through the night, carrying on the breeze throughout the Emerald City, sending chilly terror down the spines of every citizen to hear them.

If the cries of suffering had been eerie and terrifying for the Ozians, for Elphaba, it was the silence that followed that drove her up the wall as she stood, surrounded by the bloodshed her rampage had invoked.

Her green skin was stained with the blood of the military men, the corn stalks that once circled around them them flattened by the sheer force of her releasing of magic. The wooden beams Fiyero had been fastened to had been knocked over as well, his body now lying in the dirt a few feet away, free of his restraints. The bloodied bodies of the Gale Force were strewn in various locations around the flattened section, contorted into horrifying, unnatural positions.

The witch threw her head back and _laughed_ at the sight.

She laughed and laughed until her stomach hurt, a piercing, shrieking cackle ringing out through the night, disrupting the stillness of the air.

"Your _great Wizard_ is next," she hissed, her voice low and gravelly.

"In the meantime," the witch began, her lips twisting into a smirk, "Oz can _shake_ in fear of their _wicked witch_!"

 _Serves them right._

 _Serves them all right._

 _It served them right, didn't it?_

 _...didn't it?_

Suddenly, it wasn't so funny anymore.

Suddenly, she wasn't so sure of herself.

It had taken a few moments of silence, a few seconds with her thoughts, for the realization of what she'd just done to sink in, but now that it had, the weight of it hung over her like a dark cloud.

Her anger had dissipated, all that fury, all that rage had left her body, leaving her with nothing but a horrible, empty feeling burning a hole right through her.

These men were _dead_.

 _She_ killed them.

Regardless of what these men had done, to her, to Fiyero, to anyone, they were just that—men. Men with families, friends, loved ones, loved ones who would cry over them the very way she had cried over Fiyero.

Fiyero.

 _Fiyero_.

Elphaba's legs began to move of their own accord, carrying her to her lover lying on the ground.

She knelt beside him, cradling his head in her lap, brushing his blood-encrusted hair out of his face.

"Yero, my hero…."

She bent over him, eyes closed, holding him close to her, her bottom lip beginning to tremble as those dreadful tears began to burn like fire behind her eyelids.

"What have I done…?" she breathed, her voice thick with grief. "Yero, I...what have I…."

Her lids squeezed even more tightly together, almost as if she was too afraid to look at the massacre surrounding her.

The massacre _she_ had caused.

" _I'm so sorry…!"_

Her loud, piercing sobs of guilt and regret could be heard throughout all of Oz that night.

"They were right," the witch gasped, pressing Fiyero's head to her chest, her gaze lifting to the clear sky above, allowing the air to cool the layers and layers of burns on her cheeks, the moon casting a sickening light onto the dried blood of the Force's men that stained her face. "They all were."

Her tone heavy with defeat and surrender, she sobbed.

"I am _wicked_ …!"


End file.
